#Uhh Goodbye

[zer0scode]

Uhh Hii uhm so first post on here uhm *throws SolarMoon/SolarNexus at you*

Yeah so don’t like this ship block the tags and block me cause I’m not gonna waste my time over ppl but yeah enjoy some SolarMoon/SolarNexus art (if it looks familiar it’s because I used a free reference from Pinterest for the idea!)

[nova-rpv]

a bunch of doodles to make up for my wips 👍

and dont forget your daily clicks!!

[v-poreons]

I have developed brain worms about Speakeasy and Riff's sibling relationship in its varying stages... Including his early dynamic with Jive :]

I've posted some of these before but most of them are new! Introducing Sysy's ex, Dem (designed by my friend Finch)

[anesharem]

My beige flag is that I run like Jack Sparrow. Caption

[apolunatic]

[r-aindr0p]

Uhhh stuff I doodled during the family event.

I often do french jokes/shitpost but uh yeah I'm also half finnish, 'twas an event on this side of the family.

So I doodled a few moomin characters from memory :') (+ finnish names beside, 'cause who the fuck is "Snufkin" ?? I only know Nuuska Muikkunen sorry)

It was a childhood cartoon /media and I have so much admiration for Tove Jansson's illustrations tbh, I wish I had half her skills, I only recently learned that she did illustrations for the hobbit novel omg

[lilywave]

sdr2 art in 2024? it’s more likely than you might think!

closeups ⬇️

yes i know fuyuhiko got the eyepatch after peko died. but in my defense i didnt want to draw his other eye and also it makes him look 200% cooler. also low iron gundham is possibly my favorite thing on this sheet

(ps if anyone would like to rant to me about hajime and mahiru please do. my sdr2 hyperfixation is back after three years and it’s because of them. i think they’re so silly)

[tiktowafel]

personal lore dump for Shihai Kuroiro!! (where i'm probably a little mean to him but it's out of love guys i swear)

verrry late for his birthday but it's here!! :] love this kid. so many thoughts about him to share

i'll just start with the part that i find the most important - the core of his character, to me, is that he is not what he says he is and not what he desperately tries to convince himself and everyone else that he is.

i'm mostly basing this off of how ultra analysis gives him one of the two lowest wits scores in his class (as shown above) despite the fact that he calls himself "the scheming hero" and spends half his joint training match dramatically talking about trickery and psychological traps - while i like to ignore canon sometimes, this little piece of information is something i could never disregard. it's so endearing to me, plus him apparently trying really hard to seem way cooler than he actually is fits with the chuunibyou archetype he's supposed to represent.

severe headcanon territory & a generally slightly lengthy textpost under the read more lol

now, why do i hc he's that way in the first place? well, basically: his whole life he's admired underground heroes very strongly and ended up developing this very idealized mental picture of the perfect underground hero - a mysterious lonely mastermind who hides in the shadows and avoids the spotlight, quietly pulling all the strings and relying on plans and schemes instead of a powerful quirk and flashy moves. but despite all the dirty tricks they're capable of, their heart is in the right place - in fact in a way their motivations are far more noble than those of all the popular celebrity heroes, because they don't care about fame or recognition, they act out of a genuine want to do good. this is what Kuroiro aspires to be and what he bases his entire persona on, pretty much.

and that's because this is also the only kind of hero he could ever identify with - he was always an odd, withdrawn kid who had trouble making friends. he couldn't see himself in all those shiny charismatic always-in-the-spotlight heroes that everyone else seemed to love. so when he learned about underground heroes, he fell in love instantly and decided this is who he wanted to be, over time forming this perfect underground hero image to set as his goal.

except, again, a lot of traits possessed by this ideal of a hero aren't really in line with what Kuroiro himself actually is. he's nowhere this badass. he's nowhere this smart. he kinda sucks at this whole scheming thing actually! he's sneaky, sure, that's by nature of his quirk - but his schemes are way less elaborate than he likes to make them seem, most of the time they're just ways for himself to catch people off guard. he doesn't have the multi-step coordination-based planning capablity of Kendo or Tokage, the adaptability of Honenuki or the sheer sophistication of Monoma (note that almost all of 1-b's plan during joint training match 2 was invented by Kendo and Kuroiro's only strategic contribution was tricking 1-a into thinking he was gonna target Tokoyami so he could ambush Aoyama instead - which is something yeah but still nothing particularly complicated). and he hates that about himself, because intelligence is something that he values and admires so so much - so he exaggerates his strategic prowess a lot, with his hero title and dramatic speeches and all, and does everything in his power not to be perceived as stupid (often failing miserably). it's out of insecurity.

he's also not that much of a lone wolf, either. he does have a strong tendency to isolate himself from others, which is partially because he's convinced himself that he's destined to walk a lonely path in life & content with it (what's a better way of coping with your childhood loneliness than romanticizing it) and partially because the fact that he's constantly putting up a facade does by itself kinda prevent him from forming proper relationships, BUT he's not really happy this way. he's introverted but ultimately not meant to be alone. he does need friends! and he does wish for a romantic relationship, too! but, of course, he sucks at managing those feelings, as we can judge by his interactions with Kinoko and his general incapability of normally talking to girls mentioned in ultra analysis.

i actually really like that he has a crush on Kinoko specifically because it plays really well into everything that i said earlier in this post! remember that something he admires a lot about underground heroes is that they don't care about fame and recognition, and therefore in his view have the most genuine motivations? i like to believe that odd as it is, he actually has a very strong moral compass and greatly values selflessness. so, imagine how he feels when he learns that Kinoko, whom he already has a crush on because she's cute and she's nice to him and she has a really cool quirk (something something mushrooms like darkness so they must be meant to be), wants to be an idol hero. bro's devastated. those people are the epitome of modern hero society's shallowness and superficiality, and she wants to be one! she apparently wants to spend her precious time doing silly little dance routines and shaking people's hands at conventions instead of dedicating it all to proper hero work! and Kuroiro still has a crush on her! that witch...!

and you see, Kinoko isn't actually a shallow person. what motivates her to become and idol hero isn't selfishness (refer to my old Kinoko headcanon list - some things in there are a tiny bit outdated but my headcanon on why she wants to be an idol is still the same!). except Kuroiro doesn't get to know that at first so he remains bewildered and conflicted for quite some time - and i just think that's funny y'know? he eventually learns more about her (second hand, they don't directly talk to each other much, in canon i think Kinoko doesn't even pay much attention to him in general 😭) and starts to change his mind, probably falling even harder in the process - but still the whole thing is complete disaster on his side. he was always shy around her, now there's also... all this, no wonder he can't talk to her at all!!

so, to sum it up: Kuroiro is intense, he's surprisingly idealistic, he's tragically insecure, and he has some very rigid ideas about himself and the world around him that he probably needs to let go of. he's just a mess of a teenager with a lot of to figure out - and he does figure it out, he does get his happy ending eventually! (a conversation with Kinoko, among other things, is something that definitely would be a crucial part in his,, character arc, i guess? and y'know what, while i do really like them as a couple, i think them just getting to talk things out is a "happy ending" regardless of whether they end up together)

OH and by the way: i'm not saying that he's like, going against himself at all times! he's not an actual master schemer or a complete lone wolf but a lot of things about how he acts are perfectly genuine. his affinity for all things dark is genuine, his interest in taboos is genuine, and his love for theatrics is also genuine! in that matter, it's actually not a phase lol he's just like that :] would be blasphemous to say otherwise, that's what we all love him for..!

aaand this concludes my little essay about one of my favorite 1b kids!! the picture of him that i have in my head is very clear, that's why he's the first character that i chose to write this kind of post about - i'm just pretty confident about the hcs i have for him haha. i'm also thinking about writing a more lighthearted list of hcs to complete the vision (ya know, like the good ol days) because there's STILL so much that i haven't shared since it didn't fit this post - so stay tuned for that if you enjoyed this!! see you next month probably

[medi-bee]

"it'll be fun to draw lots of feathers” do not listen for that is the devil talking

alt below cut

[captain-crowfish]

I've watched this film 69 times ahaha funny number

Context (if you dare):

[cryptic-cowboy-art-edition]

Hi uhhh I learned how to play magic the gathering today

[catinasink]

thanking my fucking stars my family doesnt have an official holiday dinner

[jankydem]

Uh.. I like Mitabuki :3

Amazing confident woman X wet dog of a man

they make my.. make my life better ://

[77ngiez-archive]

post-good end omori thoughts brought to u by the sunny omori himself

sunny and basil stay really close, mostly because they think everybody else in the group hates them but theyve been thru too much shit together to hate each other. basils the first in the group to get his drivers license (besides hero) and so sometimes he’ll drive up to the city sunny lives in. he’ll leave friday right after school and stay until sunday evening. sunny’s mom is almost always gone working so it’s nice that basil’s around.

basil is also the only one that sunny’s told about headspace. partly because of the aforementioned "wow everybody else probably hates me for killing mari" and partly because. basil could see "something". he doesnt tell basil everything ofc but he tells him a fair amount, and weirdly basil can guess some stuff before sunny says it. or maybe it’s more than guessing, who’s to say?

at any rate, because basil and sunny know about headspace but the others don’t, that’s another reason that they’re closer even when the main friend group reconnects. aubrey will be over at basils and mention that she’s considering dying her hair purple, and basil flinches and is like "are you sure thats a good idea?" and shes like What Are You On About and then he has to avoid the topic.

obviously the rest of the group Does Not hate sunny and basil (except maybe hero a bit, but not even him really, he’s just in a lot of pain), but it takes a bit to get that through their thick (read: traumatized) heads. it ends up being kel who helps sunny realize that he’s been forgiven.

for basil, oddly, it’s kim—she noticed aubrey was acting weird ever since sunny moved, and she felt guilty about having bullied basil in the past, so she tried to talk to him about it. obviously he didn’t tell her about the whole mari thing, but he tried to help her understand what was going on with aubrey a bit because he still cares about her. yadda yadda yadda kim and basil ended up becoming friends somehow, and bcoz aubrey drags kim (aka kim follows her) to a lot of her hangouts with kel and hero, kim ends up picking up on a bunch of stuff that never gets said out loud. and she convinces basil that he is NOT universally hated by everybody except sunny.

sunny completely loses his eye, and so he wears his eyepatch at pretty much all times except when he’s sleeping. even though he’s home alone. he feels like when he looks at things with his missing eye socket, he can see omori and mari. so he just. covers it lol.

hero dates a lot of girls from college. they never last too long, though. he’s never really managed to get over mari, but he knows she’d want him to, so he’s trying. but none of his relationships really work out since his heart still wholly belongs to a dead girl.

kel still bottles things up for a bit. everybody can tell that he’s upset, but he refuses to admit it, until one day aubrey takes him to one of those places where you just break things. kel first treats it like a joke, but he ends up screaming and crying and shouting while he breaks things.

"SUNNY!! BASIL!! I— FUCK YOU!!! I LOVE YOU BUT FUCK YOU!!! I HATE YOU!!! I HATE YOU SUNNY, I HATE YOU BASIL, I HATE YOU HERO, I HATE YOU AUBREY, I HATE YOU HERO!!! I WISH YOU GUYS WOULD STOP NEEDING ME FOR JUST A MOMENT!!! WHY AREN’T I ALLOWED TO BREAK DOWN?! I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU, I HATE ALL OF YOU, EVEN MARI, I HATE EVERYBODY, I HATE EVERYTHING, I HATE IT SO MUCH-!!" and etc

but once he gets it all out, he’s a lot better. he’s even more willing to be vulnerable and talk about things. although he’s only really able to bear his soul with aubrey. for what it’s worth, it’s pretty reciprocal.

speaking of aubrey. she’s probably been coping the best for the past four years, but once sunny tells her the truth, she kinda breaks. she copes with self-destructive behavior, and sometimes drugs (mostly just weed, from the maverick). she stays really close with the hooligans, maybe even closer than with the others. it takes years, and sunny and basil’s permission, but eventually she tells kim everything.

when they reach college, they end up going to the same place—except hero, who’s graduated from medical school but is taking online classes for culinary school without telling his parents.

basil and sunny move in together, because. they’re still very very close. aubrey lives in her car. on purpose. most of the hooligans do, to be honest. they’re still super tight-knit. kel lived in college housing, but eventually hero made him move in with him, which ended up being good for them both.

basil and sunny have hallucinations. sunny’s are mostly omori and the stranger (mari’s gone now, and he thinks maybe she wasn’t a hallucination after all but her ghost, who’s finally moved on now that the group is healing enough). basil’s are mostly something, although sometimes he sees the headspace version of himself. sometimes alive, sometimes with his head crushed like a watermelon. (when he talks about it after a particularly bad nightmare, sunny chokes up, because he never told basil that particular detail.)

uhh yeah this is getting too long soo goodbye for now lol

[lickingthywounds]

Any chance we could get a teaser for your story? A dustjacket promo or a lil excerpt? No pressure!

Will the full first chapter suffice? 😌

Wool Over Eyes | Chapter 1

The first thing he remembers is the fire.

Not a stranger to arson, he’s plenty familiar with the idea of flames against poorly guarded skin. This, however, was a different kind of heat. A blazing inferno — and no creation of his own — tearing through his gut, pacing chasing racing like his heart as it burned from entry wound to exit.

A fire of the invisible sort. That is, ruthless and unforgiving agony. Warm tails lapping at the lacerations. A single breath, gargled between beads of crimson, and he finally comprehends the sensation — and the severity of it.

He’s been shot.

The second thing he remembers is wetted concrete against his cheek, the way his temple fell against the cold remnants of a late summer’s rain, copper bangs sticking to his forehead, and the echo of patient footsteps that prefaced a shadow. The way its narrow body stretched beneath the streetlight is forever seared into the back of his eyelids, its owner a mystery.

His current surroundings, too, a great conundrum. The place he wakes next is not home, nor a hospital, but somewhere entirely foreign to memory. A simple room, beige walls under flush mounted lights, a single picture window with the curtains drawn, and a small cot dressed in cotton sheets with which he currently rests beneath… until, upon a quick double-back of the room, he becomes distinctly aware that he isn’t alone.

Then he is sitting upward in a matter of seconds — or making an attempt of it, anyway. His endeavor is interrupted both by a miserable burn in his shoulderblade and the eager gestures of the stranger who’d nearly leapt from their chair upon seeing him up.

“Easy, kid,” says the man now at his side, “your wounds are only beginning to heal, try not to aggravate them already.” 

They are no one he recognizes. A tall and lissome frame, his head crowned in rich black hair that is wrapped in a lazy bun, the sides shaved out, he wears a comfortable turtleneck and a watch of extravagant design. A strange show of wealth when compared to such a plainly decorated room. 

Not allowed the chance to overthink the observation, his thoughts are interrupted as his savior’s hand reaches for his clean shoulder, “That was some mess you got caught up in,” they mutter, “Can you talk?”

“Don’t touch me,” he spits, answering the man’s question either way, “Don’t—” A stilted breath is kept hostage in his lungs until the man’s accusing hand withdrawals, and they lift both palms to show they mean no harm, only then does he release the air. His body sags forward with the effort. “Sorry,” he mutters under breath, as though it’s only an afterthought, “just — just give me a minute.” The heel of his palm lifts with careful measures — minding his wounded shoulder — to rub over his eyes, blinking away the remaining crust of sleep. “Who are you, again?”

An easy shrug is all he initially receives, unbearably casual. “Don’t sweat it,” the stranger replies, “you’re well within your right to be scared. Shouldn’t have reached for you just after wakin’ up, but you would’a torn right through the bandage if I hadn’t.” He turns over his heel and drags the stool he’d been on earlier to stand against the frame of the bed, then hauls himself over it so he’s less towering. “Let’s start over, yeah?” The man extends his hand to shake, “The name’s Esmond. And you are…?”

“Still waiting for you to answer my question,” comes his swift reply. There’s a drumming sensation between his ears, the headache he’d been nursing now making itself a force to be reckoned with. It does nothing but further sour his mood. “Maybe I wasn’t obvious enough. Where am I, and how the hell did I get here? The last thing I remember is a lead nose shaving through my insides, I should be surrounded by doctors right now.” Or dead, if he was being realistic, but that dreary thought didn’t need to be voiced.

“You don’t like the room?” Esmond asks, mock-disappointment dripping from his tongue. The attempt at humor is forgotten quick as it arrived, however, and replaced with a long sigh of defeat. “You’re in my house, that’s all. I found you half-dead on the pavement with uppers and snow spilling out your pockets. Thought I’d be doing you a favor, fixin’ you up myself over speed dialing the nearest cop.” He leans forward, tongue peeking out to wet his lips, “I meant no harm in bringin’ you here, kid. You…really don’t remember me?”

He stares long and hard, hazel eyes burning, trying his damndest to catch a lick of trust in the man before him and finding nothing promising. Cynicism is a bitch and it always got the better of him, anyway, but nothing about their character screams good samaritan to him. Not that he has much of a choice but to place his trust in the man for the time being. As it stands, he’s a whole arm short in terms of functionality and bedridden until the damage to his body and its residual soreness decide to play nice.

Speaking of soreness, that’s about all he feels of it. A sensation, or the lack thereof, that had gone unnoticed until now. He ought to be feeling a whole lot worse after taking a bullet like that, yet the pain in his shoulder is limited to a dull blade pressing hesitantly against his collarbone. Aside from that, it’s just the growing pressure between his temples and a subtle whirling of thoughts, like his mind swims through cotton, and that — if nothing else — is familiar.

“Hey, are you listeni—”

“Did you drug me?” He cuts the man off with a question of his own, aghast and well guarded, his head woozily swings upward to look him in the eyes.

“I…” Esmond pauses, a hand coming to rub against the back of his neck like a guilty dog hiding its tail, “well, yeah,” he answers honestly, “you were just shot, remember? I wasn’t about to let you endure that without some help, ‘specially since I had to dig the shrapnel out by hand. Real nasty work.”

His heartbeat quickens at the mention, and it’s a good deal calmer than it ought to be. Slower than if only under the effect of any over the counter pain relief he knows off the top of his head. A sedative, then?

He still isn’t getting the answers he wants. If anything, he only has more questions. The blanket shifts over his increasingly restless legs as he finally takes the time to better examine his surroundings; the feeling of clean linen itches against his skin, now more obvious than ever. He pulls away the covers with his good arm to see himself in a too-big shirt and gray pants, neither of which are his own. The beloved hoodie he went down in is no where to be found.

“It was like rooting around for a prize at the bottom of a cereal box,” Esmond continues to fill the silence, returning again to his strange choice of humor, if only briefly. “I didn’t give you anything serious, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just somethin’ to kill the pain ‘s all. Scout’s honor. Wasn’t sure how clean you were with shit like that in your pockets, after all, and I didn’t want a dead kid on my conscience.”

“I’m not a kid,” he’s quick to correct, “stop calling me that. I’m not some druggie, either. Only getting a few bucks where I can.”

Again, Esmond’s hands raise in a show of apology, “Alright, alright,” he resigns with a dry laugh, “why not give me something else to call you, then?”

A name. That’s all the man wanted, right? Even a nickname would do if only to keep that damn word out of his mouth. Still, his lips pressed together like a closing door, locked up tight. They weren’t getting anything from him.

“Fine,” hums Esmond, his mouth curving into a cheeky smile, “Ovis it is.”

Suddenly his lips can’t part fast enough. “That’s not my name,” he says.

“Maybe not,” Esmond shrugs, “but you seem determined to keep it from me, so I’ve decided your name is Ovis. You’re free to correct me at any time.”

The action is almost jarring enough to make him reconsider the decision to keep his identity a secret. Almost. This man already has him in the flesh, already has his clothes and any belongings left on his person after the incident. He didn’t want to give up his only remaining sense of privacy.

So again, his mouth clamps shut, visibly resolving to keep it that way this time. He’d rather stew in a pot of ire than give the man what he wanted.

Esmond’s smile grows teeth. “So stubborn,” his sigh is almost romantic, chin hanging casually on the base of his palm, “you’re more clever than you look.”

That’s all it takes for him to decide that it’s time to leave.

“Well, thank you for your help until this point,” he moves as he talks, legs swinging over the edge of the bed, his feet are bare as they land on the cold wood paneling, “but I think I can handle myself from here on out, so I’ll get out of your hair.”

“You’re leaving already?”

He moves to stand and makes it to his feet - barely. The sudden burden of his entire weight nearly threatens to topple him backwards and against the mattress once more. He grits through it, locking his knees in place until he feels stable enough to try again, and doesn’t bother tossing a look behind him until then.

Esmond, himself, does nothing to indicate that he plans to follow or stop him, anyway. The man remains seated at the bed’s side, hands now settling politely in his lap.

“I just really need to get home,” his answer spills out between labored breaths, each step further shocking the gentle analgesic from his system, “so if you could just hand over my shoes and jacket—” he is dizzy and heavy and so, so tired, a bone-deep exhaustion that has thoroughly settled its way through every joint, it makes the stretch between bed and door feel like miles. The left side of his body is beginning to scream. He makes it across the room and stables himself against the wall beside the door for only as long as it takes to catch his breath.

Still, Esmond says nothing, does nothing, up until the very moment his patient finally makes for the doorknob—

“Well, that’s a damn shame.”

—only to find it locked.

Ovis stills where he’s at, back turned to the man as his spine attempts to crawl out from between his teeth. The hairs along his arm prickle and brush against his soiled bandage, aching wildly, now, the wounds hidden beneath feeling all the more damning now that he’s well and truly cornered. 

Breathlessly, he risks a glance over his shoulder.

Esmond’s hands brace against his knees as he stands with a low exhale, as if the next words to come out of his mouth are in any way remorseful. “The way I see it, you owe me a debt.” Casual strides carry him across the room and in no time at all he’s covered the distance between them, that same sly grin making up for the otherwise lazy expression on his face. “See, you’d be dead if I hadn’t dragged your sorry ass to safety. You have me to thank for being alive and well. It’d be selfish to just run off now, don’t you think?”

“What the hell are you talking about,” Ovis barks, shoulders going rigid. His hair stands on end like raised hackles as he turns fully to face the man again while his hand continues its fruitless struggle against the doorknob at his back, relentless. “I can’t stay here, I need to get home,” he finds it easy to keep the tremble out of his voice if he focuses on his growing temper rather than the fear slowly overtaking him, “listen, I can pay you, okay? I’ve got some cash stowed away that’ll make up for all of this.”

Another step forward brings them ever closer, toe-to-toe, until their arm braces idly above Ovis’ head, against the door, and their breath warms his forehead, “I’m not sure you understand, clever boy,” he speaks sweetly, like explaining something simple to a child, nothing but smiles as he bends to be at eye-level, “I wasn’t asking.”

A beat of silence passes between them. Limbs still, paralyzed, his breath quickening.

He ducks beneath Esmond’s arm and heads for the window, ditching the idea of escape through the door, but his captor is fast, faster by a mile, and catches him by the wrist like one might swat casually at a fly. It snaps, the joint locking beneath his iron grip and reverberating up the chain of muscle until thunder claps against his shoulder and the first cry escapes between his clenched teeth.

“Settle,” they order, tone even, “you’re only going to hurt yourself further like this.”

“You’re the one hurting me!” Ovis growls back, struggling still against the firm hold.

“I’m only holding you in place, lamb, to keep you from hurting yourself more,” he counters, “you’re the one squirming, Ovis. If you’d only settle down, like I’ve asked, you wouldn’t be in so much pain. It will stop when you decide you’re ready to listen.”

“Fuck that!” He lurches away, all but tearing his elbow from its joint in the process, and stubbornly bites back the resulting scream until the insides of his cheek tastes like old pennies. “Let. Me. Go—”

He’s released in an instant. The sudden lack of binding has him staggering backwards, and he lands — shoulder first — against the hardwood floor.

There’s few means to stop the shriek that erupts from his chest this time around. It echoes against the walls and yet earns no change in expression from the man standing over him.

“See?” Esmond tuts, abandoning him there on the floor and momentarily stepping in the opposite direction, instead, “I suppose you’re determined to learn things the hard way.”

He isn’t listening, and he doesn’t care to. Rather, his attention is evenly divided between the blinding spasms abusing his newly reopened wounds and the wave of nausea that each brings. He chokes on the taste of bitter acid at the back of his throat and fights it off the best he can, but his vision is swiftly tunneling, and he hasn’t much time to do anything more than take shallow breaths and feel like he’s drowning on land.

It can’t end like this. If he passes out for a second time, there’s no telling where he’ll wake up or what else will happen to him. He has to move. He has to get out of here. He has to get up. Get up. Get up.

Shaking, still, he manages to gather the strength to prop an arm beneath him, bent at the elbow, and with that last remaining burst of energy he raises himself up by an inch, then two—

A boot makes contact with the space between his shoulderblades and drives him back into the floor with a resounding crunch. 

Ovis howls, dry heaving around the agony. With no strength left to shake the shoe off his back he is forced to stay down, fists clenched, angry and panting like a stray on the side of the road. 

Blearily, he realizes he will be forgotten like one, too.

The stars forming in his vision are warm and inviting, the ring in his ears like a blaring alarm. He lacks the strength to refuse them a second time, and so his body slumps, fists uncurling to expose open palms, and everything

falls

silent.

[benrey26]

[hey hey, lookie here! an explanation thing] [This account is solely for roleplay purposes, benrey is owned by WayneradioTV on yt and twitch] [All replies, asks n etc are responded to in-character unless surrounded by brackets or anything else]

[Whatever action you guys do in rp can easily change the plot, forming a new strand of lore or u might make a brand-new au out of it] [Anything involving brackets means it is out of roleplay/oorp. this also could mean many things]

[out of character, my name is benrey, but feel free to call me hornet to avoid any confusion] [My pronouns are he/him while Benrey(for the rp) is he/they]

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